


Masks and White Rabbits

by TheLostDisneyPrincess



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Disney, F/M, Modern AU, frozen, helsa, slightly mental elsa, srsly elsa is a bit of a nutter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLostDisneyPrincess/pseuds/TheLostDisneyPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in modern day New York City; Arendelle Enterprises is one of the city’s largest and most wealthy companies, directed by the mysterious and beautiful CEO Elsa Arendelle.  Untouchable and cold, Elsa has earned a reputation for being unapproachable.  However, when businessman Hans Westerguard sets his sights on Arendelle Enterprises through whatever means necessary, his attention is captured by the  platinum blonde...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks and White Rabbits

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **So this is an AU of frozen…Sort of. Well, more based on Frozen. Keep your eyes open, and you'll see a lot of similarities! This is me testing the water, so if you like (or don't like!)**  
>  _  
>  **please**  
> _  
>  **review! Anyone who has read my other work will know two things; 1. There will be smut. 2. There will be Helsa. Eventually.**  
> 

" _Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle."_

A pair of black high heels hit the pavement.

Pale ankles briefly flashed before the dark fabric of what I imagine to be a designer suit covers them, a delicate hand furls around the car door with feline grace, concealed within a black glove. I watch, fascinated as she steps out of the car. Porcelain skin contrasts against a pair of almost sinfully red lips, her white hair in a rigid braided bun. Her legendary ice blue eyes are hidden by large sunglasses which conceal most of the top half of her face, acting like a mask. Even though I can't see her full face, I instinctively know she's beautiful. Merely looking at her; so pale and so imposing in the early morning sunlight, I feel a small trickle of lust enter my veins, not a sharp bolt, but in a dark insidious cloud, that I instinctively know won't go away. She lazily turns her head, glancing indifferently at the hushed crowd, who all clear a path for her despite the hustle and bustle of Midtown Manhattan. Her heels echo brazenly onto the pavement.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

I watch as people awkwardly try not to look at her; they know better than to stare although their eyes itch to. I heard things about her; drunk entrepreneurs whisperings in my ear.

" _Her parents died in a boating accident when she was 18, and she didn't even go to the funeral..."_

" _I heard that when she was 8, she accidently nearly killed her sister. Between you and me, I don't think it was an accident. Remember, Anna owns a quarter of the company, left to her by her parents in their will. I'm just saying, if something happened to her sister, the Ice Queen would inherit everything. That's a fortune!"_

" _Apparently, hardly anyone in the company ever sees her, she only leaves her office when she absolutely has to."_

I know it to be nonsense, but, staring at her as she gives the doorman a barely discernible nod of her head to open the door for her as she walks through the crowd like a blast of frigid air, I can't help but wonder.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

Wonder not just at the truth in the rumours, and about my sudden, and unexpected half attraction to her. To the power she wields; the fact she can stop a crowd with her mere presence. And then suddenly, as abruptly as she arrived, she is gone again, the golden door marked 'Arendelle Enterprises' once more shut, as it always is, to the outside world. The crowd shakes itself, and carries on in its daily life, always moving, always shifting, but there is a hushed undertone that wasn't there before, murmurings about the Ice Queen, Elsa Arendelle.

As for me, I blend into the loud mob, just another man in a designer suit, melting away like a shadow in the night. However, upon closer inspection, the casual observer may notice the predatory smirk curving my lips; the sleek phone in my hand filled not with text messages, but share and stock information about Arendelle Enterprises, graphs and ever changing figures contained in the one small device. I slip it back into my pocket after checking the time, moving with the crowd to my destination. My thoughts return to the platinum blonde. Elsa Arendelle. The Ice Queen, as beautiful as she is cold, although hardly anyone ever sees her without sunglasses. She is an enigma to New York; 21 years old, she should be out doing what other spoilt rich kids of her age are doing; drugs, loud partying, scandals. Instead, she is head of the city's largest business presence; not a blemish to her name or her already fearsome reputation. Her reputation for mystery; hardly anything is known about her. She was a sweet eight year old, always going to parties or with her parents. Then suddenly, she disappeared. The family company closed its doors, and no one ever saw her, again, at least, not until her 21st birthday a year ago. There are whispers as to why, rumours that Elsa nearly killed her sister. Perhaps that's why I found myself drawn here; to her. There are far more suitable and gullible young heiresses with nice big trust funds; I don't have to go for not merely the biggest fish in the pond, but the shark. The very beautiful, influential and cold shark. It's going to take forever to set the board up just how I like it, but it will be worth it. Elsa is, after all, preferable. I shake myself and realise that I've found myself in front of the New York College; thankfully it's nice and close to the Arendelle Exports skyscraper. The large limestone building is imposing; students dot the large steps which lead to the columned entrance, laughing, talking, painting. I wait.

I hear her before I see her.

A loud, not unpleasant burst of laughter issuing from what appears to be an arts student, paint stained jeans with holes ripped at the knees, a loose purple t-shirt with what looks to be some sort of flower embroidered at the hem, ginger hair, streaked with one long line of white paint, is held out of her pretty freckled face in two plats. Some sort of folio is hugged at her chest, probably full of artwork. I find it hard to believe this energetic girl could be the sister of that imposing woman who could halt a street with the merest inclination of her head. Her off colour blue eyes dance as she smiles at her friend, some tall blonde man who smiles at her with adoration.  _Damn._ It would seem someone had bet me to the young heiress; not that it particularly matters. The Older sister is far more preferable, although to say no one's getting anywhere with her would be an understatement.

I however, am not just anyone.

The blonde man leans down and kisses her softly, she stands up on the toes of her worn converses and kisses him back before she breaks off, giggling. I fight the urge to yawn, bored when I suddenly perk up. She's left her boyfriend and has started her customary walk to the subway station, (for some reason, she refuses to use a car and driver like her sister does) leather satchel swaying against her narrow hips. I briskly follow her, remaining just the right distance away, not to conspicuous. I'm lucky really, at how busy New York crossings are; all sorts of things can happen, and no one would even notice. The thought makes my lips curve in a smirk. She stops at a particularly busy junction, the crossing brimming with people.  _Perfect._ I slip my way to the front, just behind the fidgeting ginger. I glance at the road, and the blessedly ignorant crowd.  _Thank god for the obliviousness of New Yorkers._ I spot a taxi racing down the road with the stream of traffic, I brace myself, glancing around one more time into the silent crowd, all of them with earphones in, in their own little world.  _This is far too easy._ When the taxi is within three meters, I give the uncoordinated girl a light shove in the back, enough to be mistaken for an accident, enough for her to fall. She trips forward in front of the yellow car, but just as quickly, my arm shoots out like lightening and grabs her hand, tugging her up in the last second before the taxi would have hit her. She turns around, shaking with shock, staring into my eyes with her own wide green-blue ones, her face pale. I smile at her, friendly and charming.

"Glad I caught you." She gives a weak chuckle before stepping away from the crossing, stumbling slightly, numb with shock. I quickly loop an arm around her shoulders.

"Whoa, take it easy. You nearly  _died."_ I say pointedly, dimly noticing the onlooker's complete obviousness to the situation. I inwardly roll my eyes.  _New Yorkers._

I firmly lead her away from the scene, gently tugging her to a nearby metal seat on the street corner, she sits down, still shaking.

"T-thank you." She mutters through clenched teeth, wrapping her arms around herself. In a display of gallantry, I slip off my suit jacket and place it around her shoulders, she digs her fingers into the fabric. She gives a small burst of shaky laughter.

"You're nice for a New Yorker." She mumbles. I chuckle.

"I'm not from New York." I lean back into the uncomfortable metal bench, noting that Anna seems to be calming down.

"Where are you from?" she asks curiously. I smile.

"The British Isles." I chuckle. She frowns slightly.

"You don't have an accent." She says suspiciously. I roll my eyes.

"neither do you." I remind her. She smiles.

"true. Tourist?" she asks.

"No, I'm here looking for work." I sigh innocently. She picks up on the defeated tone of my voice, frowning.

"New York's a bit of a tough town like that. What sort of work are you in?" she asks helpfully.  _This is going to be far less work then I thought._

"business. I used to be a stockbroker but with the crash…" I break off sadly. She perks up at the mention of business.

"Really? My families in business." She says energetically.

"oh? You look like an Arts student to me." I chuckle. She flushes awkwardly, no longer trembling, her face regaining colour.

"Well, I am. But my sister is." She says defensively. I smile, and she relaxes again.

"really? Who's your sister?" I ask flippantly, inwardly laughing at the irony.  _I know exactly who your sister is dear Anna._ She shrugs, showing clear reluctance in telling me who her sister is.  _Probably afraid I'd freak out._

"Elsa Arendelle." She sighs. I give her a blank look.

"who?" I ask bluntly. She laughs.

"You really aren't from here are you?" she chuckles, amused. I smile.

"I'm sure if she's anything like you, she's lovely." I flatter her, inwardly bored. Her face shines with pleasure at the compliment.

"Lovely isn't exactly the word I'd use for Elsa…" she hesitates, trailing off. I make a great show of being confused.

"no?" She sighs.

"no. She's a little…" she searches for the word, "withdrawn." She says finally. I nod.

"Oh." Is all I say, she clearly appreciates the lack of pressure. We sit in silence, punctuated by the sound of car horns, motors and chatter from the crowds around us. Suddenly, she sits bolt upright where she had slumped, she turns to face me, eyes glittering energetically.

"Can I say something crazy?" she says, all trauma of her experience forgotten in the face of the idea I had oh so carefully planted in her head.

"I love crazy!" I laugh. She giggles, practically bouncing in the chair.

"Look, what if I introduced you to my sister? I'm sure that she would happily…well, she'd hire you. She would have to, I own ¼ of our families company." She informs me excitedly. I raise an eyebrow.

"You do?" I ask, incredulous. She gestures dismissively.

"Yes, but that's not important. What do you think?" she says proudly, obscenely delighted in 'her' plan. I laugh, looking every inch like the surprised and pleased young man.

"That would be absolutely incredible…if you're sure! After all, we just met-" she cuts me off impatiently.

"You saved my life silly! It's the least I can do!" she punches me playfully in the arm; I vaguely notice she has a surprisingly strong arm. Probably from all that painting.

"Thank you- wait, I don't even know your name!" I laugh, lying easily. She giggles, holding out her hand.

"My names Anna Arendelle." I take her delicate hand in my own gloved one.

"And I'm Hans Westerguard. Nice to meet you."

She shakes my hand, giggling before she tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. Despite her girlish actions, I see no interest in me, well, not of  _that_ sort. She seems to be well and truly devoted to the blonde man. She jumps up and down on the seat excitedly, like a hyperactive puppy.

"you two would have to be introduced of course… first rule of Elsa: Catching her in business hours is a bad idea. Then again, business time for Elsa is usually all the time." Her voice is slightly bitter, I'm reminded of one of the rumours I had heard; the two sisters weren't that close, or at least, hadn't been since the accident when Elsa was eight.  _I really do have to find out more about that._ I frown slightly.

"Then how can I meet her?" I ask, my voice puzzled. A thought strikes Anna, she bites a plump lower lip, hesitating before clearly making the decision to trust me…A horrible decision really.

"Do you have a tux?" she eventually asks. I raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, why?" She gives me a shy smile.

"my sisters throwing a party tonight…well I say party. More of a ball." She says dryly. I chuckle.

"How very Upper East Side of her. What's the occasion?"

"Oh she doesn't want to do it; chances are she'll slip off within the first half hour. It's for my families charity." She informs me proudly. I smile.

"Of course. Where is it?" I ask casually, marvelling at how  _ **easy**_ it all is.

"oh, some old building on the upper east side. Elsa organised it, so it will be gorgeous. As much as she hates parties, she does know how to throw one. She has the 'Magic Touch' I guess. I'll text you the address…what's your number?" I rattle it off easily, and we she gives me hers; I feel a burst of triumph. At last, some definite form of contact. She giggles again before standing up, handing me my jacket.

"turn up after seven,  **don't** be early. Thanks again for…well, saving my life." She chuckles. I smile easily.

"You're very welcome. Thanks for all this!" I say enthusiastically. She waves at me cheerily before turning to go. She walks a few paces before stopping, clearly remembering something, turning around again.

"I almost forgot. Do you have a mask?" I frown at the odd question.

"I'll probably be able to find one somewhere…why?" She grins like an excited child, which, I suppose, she is.

"It's a masquerade ball."

**Later.**

I walk up East 80 Street, the neat rows of regency style houses presenting a beautiful and intricate façade as the city begins to descend into twilight. I stand out the front of the largest house on the street, loud music and laughter washing out onto the street like the soft golden lights of the streetlamps which start to turn on as evening descends, the late summer air warm.

I reach into my pocket and retrieve the plain black domino mask which I had managed to hire from one of Manhattans numerous clothing shops, and place it over my face before squaring my broad shoulders, allowing a smug smirk to grace my lips.

_This is all so easy._

I ascend the red carpeted stairs which lead to the open front door; loud music that's indefinable, but the bass line easily heard thumping from the inside, the young and beautiful of New York already spilling out of the front steps, women in designer dresses and men in equally designer tuxedos, the top halves of their faces hidden in masks which do not hide the wide glittering eyes, shining with promise and happiness that would be forgotten tomorrow as easily as whoever they would inevitably end up with by the end of the night.

I cross the threshold and enter the packed, dimly lit space. I am reluctantly impressed.

The interior of the building is soft, and yet sharp; large bolts of white fabric hang from the ceiling and are draped across corners, providing the perfect escape for eager party goers, couples dance on the large floor, bodies grind against others in an almost sinful display, the young and beautiful living like they would die the next day-most likely of an over dose. A large wrought iron balcony winds around the top half of the room, more men and women, talking or dancing, staring down at the crowd behind masks, some intricate and only cover the top half of the face, others cover all the features leaving a mocking leer in its place. I'm distracted in my studies by a young blonde virtually throwing herself at me, clearly drunk or, more likely, on some other more sinister drug. Unfortunately, it's not the blonde that I'm here to find. I oh-so-politely push her towards the man beside me, who appreciates her much more than I ever could. I stride across the writhing dance floor, bumping against heated bodies as I stare around for a particular white haired woman, but in the crowd seeing anyone is difficult, especially in the dim light. I spot a bar in the corner, well-populated by social butterflies and make a beeline for it; cooling my frustration. Even though I know it to be impossible, it's as if she's evading me on  _ **purpose.**_ I acknowledge the harried, almost frantic nature of the two bartenders (who seem to be mixing drinks for half the party) slip my hand down behind the counter and search. A smile curves my lips and I draw out a bottle of scotch. I glance at the oblivious crowd, half deafened by the loud music, and take out a glass. On thought, I take another one as well, and make my way back across the corner, making a beeline for an abandoned corner. Until the Ice Queen shows herself, as she surely must, I can only wait.

Suddenly, I see a shadow. A wisp of blue, a flick of white, and it's gone; disappeared through the door on the balcony across the room, but I saw it. And I know exactly who it belonged to. A predatory smirk crosses my lips before I quickly down a glass of scotch and change course to across the room. I walk up the spiralling iron staircase, avoiding the numerous couples with tongues down each other's throats, unceremoniously shoving past drunk men until I finally reach the long awaited top.  _This damned music is giving me one hell of a migraine._

I open the unassuming looking door and slip through it, shutting it behind me with a quiet click. I lean against it, sighing blissfully at the instant softening of the loud music, although the loud baseline can still be heard. I glance curiously at where I now find myself; in some sort of corridor. Not shabby, but hardly upper east side style. I curiously pad down the hallway, trailing my gloved fingers along doors, bumping over wooden door frames lightly. The sound of the music slowly ebbs and slips away, almost like we're in a totally different world, a sort of fairyland. No light shines under any of the doors. Maybe it's the scotch, but I'm reminded obscenely of Alice in Wonderland.

_"I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then."_

I chuckle. One of my favourite books.

I go deeper into the rabbit hole.  _Still no light._ The doors all look the same, adding to the surreal experience, my vision slightly distorted from the mask. I would have walked right past the door, if it wasn't for the faint but unmistakable sound of… _humming?_ I pause, listening quietly.

" _Let it go, let it go…"_

Her voice is high, sweet, and… _utterly perfect._ Well, no better time than the present. I pause to wonder why she's sitting in the dark before I shrug, opening the door. The first thing I notice is that the room is not dark at all. A huge bay window with its curtains thrown wide open allows the glittering lights of Manhattan to shine in, making the room almost glow. The second thing I notice is a small figure sitting on the window seat, knees drawn up, ethereal blue satin stretched tight over a slim leg. Her head snaps up, white mane shaking lightly as she glares at me. Staring into her furious, cold ice blue eyes, it's with a sinking feeling that I acknowledge Elsa may not be the easy mark her sister was. Her upper face is covered by an intricate silver mask that doesn't hide anything; it's made of finely wrought metal.

"What do you want?" her red lips snap, voice frosty. I leisurely study her, the way her perfectly styled white hair falls over an exposed shoulder, her silky blue dress which follows the curves of her chest like a caress, pooling at her bare feet, delicate heels on the floor. She glitters, like some sort of furious angel. I meet her eyes, smirking, making a decision. Now's my chance to charm her when she doesn't think I know her.

"Well, at the moment sweetheart, I want a drink." I chuckle. She glowers at me before turning her gaze back towards the sparkling city. I walk over to her, like approaching a wild animal. Her head snaps back unnaturally fast, icy eyes unreadable.

"The bar's out there." She says pointedly. I chuckle.

"What, and miss the warm welcome? Besides, I brought my own." I lift the scotch bottle and the two glasses. She rolls her eyes with astounding sarcasm, something that shoots a dark burst of desire down my already heated blood. I chuckle; the little minx should watch her back. I have a penchant for touching the untouchable. She notices the laughter and glares at me with those fierce, entrancing eyes.

"Something amusing?" she asks coldly, her eyes flicking over me in disdain. I gasp in mock shock, stepping over her shoes to stand in front of her, smirking down at her.

"Yes. Want one?" I ask, lifting the scotch. She bites a delicate red bottom lip, a movement which goes straight to my already overactive libido. She glares at me, something that seems to be her favourite expression.

"Fine." She snaps. I give her a smirk before sitting down on the window seat next to her. She pulls her knees in tighter, shifting away from me. I feel my natural predators instincts start to lock I at her subtle movement.

"So jumpy…" I tease her, enjoying playing with her like this. I decide to take it one step further, to do what I've been dying to do since I first saw her. I slide my gloved hand forward and run my hand along the curve of her leg, up to her knee. She freezes, her eyes widening in shock.  _Almost as if no one had ever touched her before._ I shake my head of that ridiculous thought as I realise the Ice Queen has recovered from her surprise and is glaring at me.

"Stop touching me." She says quietly, her voice colder then winter in Antarctica. I smirk, not removing my hand. I vaguely notice that even though I'm wearing gloves, I should feel warmth coming from her body. Instead, I only feel coldness. I frown slightly at this oddity.

"Or what?" I challenge her, enjoying the fury in her ice cold eyes. She shoves my hand away, her eyes meeting mine.

"It's far too graphic for you to know." I shiver, noting the seriousness in her voice. I sigh theatrically.

"If the lady so desires." I chuckle. She gives me a haughty look and she swiftly stands, going to leave. I know I can't let that happen. I quickly grab her gloved hand, tugging her back. She gasps before turning, eyes furious.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she hisses, angry beyond belief. Through some sick twist, I somehow find this arousing.  _Curiouser and curiouser_ _…_

"I don't know. What would you like me to do?" I tease her, enjoying the shock in her eyes. I don't think anyone had ever spoken to her like that before, and I am certainly relishing being the first.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?" she says slowly, realization dawning in her eyes. I realise I've not let go of her hand, encased in the blue satin, and begin to draw slow circles on her palm.

"and who are you?" I flirt shamelessly, giving her what she wants; anonymity. At least for now. She hesitates, and although her pale face is unreadable as ever, I sense her decision. She shrugs elegantly.

"I'm no-one." Those words seal her fate. I give a smug smile, tugging her back down beside me. She leans her back against the frame, facing me as she draws her knees up again, wrapping her arms around her legs like some sort of nymph. I pour the two glasses, handing one to the masked Queen with the fascinating eyes.

"If you're at this party, then you're not no one." I chuckle, watching as she takes a dainty sip. She shrugs, but doesn't answer, her pale skin and hair luminous in the dim light.

"Alright Alright, so you're a beautiful woman with very distinctive white hair, with a thing for glaring. Any other hints?" I ask teasingly, enjoying my little game with her, shifting myself slightly closer. She notices, and glares.

"And you ask too many questions." She snaps, shaking her waist length hair. The endless length and fine, billowy texture of it makes my hands itch to bury themselves in it.

 _If I were to touch her now,_ I catch myself thinking,  _I would touch her hair first._

And with a dreadful, sinking awareness, I know I would not stop there.

"Probably. So, whilst I'm asking questions, care to tell me why you left the party?" I ask flippantly, studying her closely behind my mask. She stares me down fiercely.

"Why did you?" she retorts. I chuckle.

"I followed you. Now what's your excuse?" She bristles at my following her, glaring at me with those intriguing eyes, before she sighs.

"I…don't like parties." she says finally, taking another sip of the scotch, avoiding my eyes.  _Now's the time…_

"So why are you here?" I ask, making a great show of being confused, forcing her into admitting who she is, making her vulnerable. She takes another, larger sip as I watch, gleeful.  _Maybe this will be easy after all…_  I clearly overestimated her. She finishes the glass, lifting it from her ruby lips. I realise with a sinking feeling those very ruby lips are smirking.

"You know why I'm here. Just like I know why you are, Mr. Westerguard."

_Fuck._

_How the hell did she know?_

I pause, frantically thinking. I could deny everything, pretend I don't know what she's talking about, or I could play it out. I choose the later. I smile at her, pouring myself another drink.

"Ah, you've got me. I have to ask, how did you know?" I ask easily, offering her another drink with a wordless tilt of the bottle. She covers her glass with a dainty gloved hand, mouth curving in a beautiful and utterly vicious smile that makes my blood simply boil with lust.

_This is so wrong._

_Maybe that's why I like it so much?_

"How did I know what? You're name? or that you'd be here?" she asks sweetly, Her voice has changed; from the cold hostile tone she has switched into a lower, intimate voice, almost seductive, more like one found in a bedroom then confronting a would be manipulator. For a second, I entertain the ridiculous fantasy that she knows how much it makes me  _throb,_ to see her icy eyes narrowed in icy accusation and red, red lips curved in a poisonous smirk. I chuckle.

"I'm curious to both of them."

"Mask off first Westerguard." She demands coyly. I don't move an inch, a smirk playing on my lips.

"only if you take yours off as well." She rolls her eyes, but undoes the bow hat the back of her white hair holding her mask up. I slide the Domino mask off my face, its purpose exhausted. I examine the icy goddess in full, my vision unhindered and her face fully exposed for the first time. She is so beautiful it almost  _ **hurts,**_ even though the mask hardly hid any of her features, seeing her in full with the moonlight shining on her like some sort of sacred effigy, her full lips blood red. She stretches languorously like some sort of cat, her arms above her head.

"Happy?" she asks sarcastically.

"Very. Now, do tell how you know who I am?

"Wherever my sister goes, so do my eyes. Quite gallant of you, saving her from being run over." I feel a brief moment of panic.   _Please god tell me they didn't see me push her._

"Oh I know." I wink at her, going for arrogant confidence, hoping to bluff my way through this conversation. She glares at me.

"Save it Westerguard." She says flatly, turning around so her legs dangle off the edge of the window sea, facing the door. She rearranges the fold of her skirt delicately, the moonlight reflecting off the pale surface. I run my eyes down her slim throat, partially covered by white hair.

"I do have one question though." I say nonchalantly. She raises an eyebrow.

"I hardly think you're in a position to ask questions." I smile.

"I will anyway. When I touched you, you were…" I pause, searching for the right word. She sighs resignedly.

"Cold?"

"that's the word."

She hesitates before shrugging, clearly deciding to tell me.

"I have a rare blood disease. My body temperature is colder than normal." My eye brows rise slightly at the admission. 

"So, what happens now? I'm thrown out in disgrace?" I ask mockingly. She stands gracefully, smoothing down her dress. I watch her, like I always do. She casts me a glance over her shoulder, pale eyes frosty.

"of course not. You did, after all save my sisters life. Even if you did touch me." her tone drips with sarcasm, and I get the nagging feeling that whilst she suspects some foul play, she has no proof. How perfect.

"Ah, So I did." A smile curves her lips.

"So why did you? It's an awfully big risk." she asks, turning her head towards me, her features softened by the moonlight. Her ice blue eyes show nothing. I give her an utterly unabashed smile.

"Because I wanted to." I say simply. She frowns slightly.

"Why?" her confused tone surprises me.

"Why not?" I chuckle, enjoying her puzzlement. She gives a dry laugh.

"Because people don't touch me." She hisses, her earlier fury remembered.  I raise an eyebrow.

"And why is that Arendelle?" She glares at me witheringly.

"too afraid." 

I laugh.

"What, of you?" I say incredulously.  She smiles, and, before I know it, she is on her feet next to me, and there is a small but deadly knife against my throat.  My heart stops for a second, the cold blade prickling against my skin.  

"Yes, of me." she cooes,  hand on my shoulder, she stares into my eyes, daring me to talk, to move.  The situation is still catching up with me, cold fear and adrenaline running through my veins.

"now listen here you pathetic boy.  Stay away from me, and my sister, or else  _you'll_ find out why I disappeared when I was eight." she chuckled, her eyes dark and unreadable.  I narrow my eyes, anger overriding the fear.   _Who does this little whore think she is?_ However, what she says captures my interest.  

"and why did you?  Got told off for holding knifes against peoples throats?" I sneer, and get the satisfaction of some annoyance flickering in her eyes.  She presses the flat of the blade against my neck, pushing my head back slightly.

"something like that." she chuckles before her gazes bores back into mine.  "do you understand Westerguard?  Make an enemy of me, and you will  _burn._  Do I make myself clear." I smile sweetly.

"Crystal." She lowers the knife, flicking it back into her gossamer sleeve where it had been concealed.  I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding, my heart pumping inside me.  I slowly lift my eyes to her unnaturally beautiful face, awash with hatred.  She tosses me a saccharine smile.

"glad we understand each other Westerguard." she says.  A hard thought forms in my mind. 

"You bet." I growl before I stand up, grabbing her waist, fisting a hand in her her hair and then pressing my warm lips to her cold ones. 

She tastes like death and honey. 

 


End file.
